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Songs and Satires 



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Songs and Satires 



SONGS and SATIRES 

A Chronology of Youthful 
Rhymes and Verse 



WILLARD ROUSE JILLSON 

State Geologist of Kentucky 

Author of 

OILAND GAS RESOURCES OF KENTUCKY 
contributions TO KENTUCKY GEOLOGY 
ECONOMIC PAPERS ON KENTUCKY GEOLOGY 




The C. T. Dearing Company Press 

INCOhPOKATtD 

LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY 
1920 









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Copyright 1920 

WILLARD ROUSE JILLSON 

Frankfort, Ky. 



DEC -9 1921 \^ 



g)Cl.A653048 



To 

My Brothers 

Edward and Frederick 

Who Were Haply My Partners 

In Many of These Youthful 

Frolics, Adventures 

and Romances 

This Little Book 

IS Dedicated 



By the Bye 

Whe7i as a hoy I first hegan to rhyme, 

It never then occurred to me 

That there would come in later years a time 

When I woidd print that wretched poetry. 

I scribbled couplets then in boyish play 

The idle pranks of schoolmates to rehearse, 

Though older folks, their patience tried, ivoidd say, 

^'Your breeches are much shorter than your verse/^ 

It was in vain they spoke to me of style, 

My literary sins I cotdd not see. 

Those jingles drove didl care away awhile, 

I asked what other good coidd poets be. 

Years slipped away, I wandered fancy free 

'er land and sea far from the sheltered nook. 
Leaving a trail of printed verse to he 
Gathered, uncJianged, to make this little book. 
For in their orbits through eternal space 

The stars had fortunately sealed my fate. 
As stoneman I ivas hurled into my place. 
And left my poor rhymes on the garden gate. 
O'er hill and vale where derricks raise the head. 
Through mine and shaft by flaring candle light, 

1 now plod on m.y way in quest of bread 



BY THE BYE 



To fill three hungry little mouths at night. 

When snipper's done, and close they gather round 

The hig wood fire in their childish glee, 

What care I if their mother finds me hound 

Captive, with little brigands on each knee. 

Their honest pratt 'lings and their hig blue eyes 

Are royal bond, I kiss their little heads 

Finding the sandman caught them' by surprise, 

Then tuck them in their little trundle beds. 

Again the cheery blaze I seek and find 

Their mother, she who comes before each one. 

Mending a little dress — the baby kind 

That brings up tales of all the things they've done; 

And sometimes as the wintry tempest Wound 

Siveeps up the fire- figures in a dance 

She tells me tales of days when first she found 

Her happiness, and I my real romance. 

Thus runs the story, and I am content^ 

Rhymster I am no more, yet for the while 

I hope those not of literary bent 

May find these pages worth a laugh and smile. 

Frankfort, Ky., 1920. The Author. 



CONTENTS 

By the Bye vii 

May Woods 3 

Whippoorwill 3 

Street Gamin 4 

Brittons Woods 5 

The Old Medicine Chest 6 

"Shep" - 7 

Tit for Tat 8 

The Dreamer 9 

Old Letters 10 

Chimes of Crouse 11 

Fortune Tellers 12 

Shadow Ships 13 

Farewell 13 

Orange Drinking Cup 14 

The Dinkey-Bird 15 

Hans Keppenger 16 

Spanish Castles 18 

Evening Song 19 

To Helen 20 

A Fireside Reverie 21 

Over The Hills 22 

The Making of The Gown 23 

October 24 

Song : 25 

Mary Marie 26 

Song of The Bob-0-Link 27 

Coin Of A Kind 28 

The Auld Hame 28 



X CONTENTS 

Wings Of The Night 29 

Delancy Street 30 

Bermuda 31 

The Little Vagabond 32 

Apple Mary 33 

Epigrammatic 34 

Song Of The Lost Sons 36 

Cape Flattery 38 

In Explanation 39 

Lent 40 

An Old Friend Of Mine 42 

Mother 43 

The Fair Co-Ed 44 

A Tryin' To Be Happy 45 

A Valentine P'antasy 46 

Invocation 47 

November Eighth 48 

Spirit O' Youth 48 

R. S. V. P 48 

May Day 49 

Regimental Mary Ann 49 

Changing Seasons 51 

A Wish 52 

Yule-Tide 52 

The Magic Land 53 

Mother Carey and Saint Nick 54 

Reflections 55 

Kentucky 56 

Gargoyles Three 57 

Two Little Shoes 58 



Songs and Satires 



MAY WOODS 

On a sunny wooded hillside 
By a moss rose old and dead, 

In the springtime once a flower sprang to view, 
And the Heavens dropped their color 
Down on its tiny head. 

That the forest-folk might know that it was true. 

But there came a lusty warbler 
To the moss rose old and dead, 

And he sang most sadly , sweetly of his lot, 
Till the flower mutely, surely 
His inmost thoughts had read. 

And as he flew away — ' ' Forget-me-not. ' ' 

Onondaga Hill — 1905. 

WHIPPOORWILL 

The purple shades of night are gently falling, 

All nature seems quieted and still, 
But one small voice in yonder woodlawn calling, 

'Tis the note of a lonely whippoorwill. 

* * Whippoorwill, whippoorwill, whippoorwill. ' ' 

Faster and deeper the shadows black are growing. 
Dark outlined 'gainst the sky stands the mill, 
The little stream seems sleepy in its flowing, 
Faintly I hear the echo, "Whippoorwill." 
*' Whippoorwill, whippoorwill, whippoorwill." 

Onondaga Hill — 1906* 



STREET GAMIN 



STREET GAMIN 

Three little dirty ragamuffins 

Scampering on together, 
"With never a thought in their childish minds 

Of rain or storm or weather, 
With never a thought of home or friends 

Or any kindred relation. 
Afloat on a sea that never ends — 

The gallantry of the nation. 

Three little daring buccaneers 

Pirating on together, 
The ash can many a fortune holds, 

A shoe, or a cap with a feather, 
A musty crust or a rind of cheese 

Prized from this conglomeration 
Offers a kingdom's wealth in fees 

To the freebooters of the nation. 

Three little wandering errant knights 

Trooping on together, 
A' swearing by their lady loves, 

Or by their spurs and leather; 
A noisy, cheerful, merry band, 

Sharing a strange elation. 
Recking neither law nor land. 

The gallantry of the nation. 

Syracuse — 1907. 



BRITTONS WOODS 



BRITTONS WOODS 

I know a cool, sequestered glen 

That deep in the hills doth lie ; 
Its guardians are the squirrel and wren, 

And the sentinel crow that wings on by. 

A tiny brook winds down along 

Its shallow, stony way; 
It sings the sweetest woodland song 

At the closing of the day. 

There May flowers in profusion grow, 

And lilies by the stream; 
'Tis there the softest breezes blow, 

'Tis there I love to dream. 

Each clifted rock and giant tree. 

Each crystal pool and bar of sand 

Bring back in mellow memory 

Lost scenes of childhood's fairy land. 

Onondaga Hill — 1908, 



THE OLD MEDICINE CHEST 



THE OLD MEDICINE CHEST. 

My mother's old rickety medicine chest 

Stood just inside the door 

Of the sitting room, on three creaky legs 

Knee high above the floor. 

With some sky blue plush hung about it for best 

I'll bet nobody ever guessed 

*Twas just an old relic medicine chest. 

Wherever it came from I never made out — 

'Twas such a peculiar old thing, 

All studded and inlaid and locked up with brass 

Just like the strong box of a king. 

With its round little rivets all shiny and dressed ; 

I'll bet nobody ever guessed 

'Twas just our family's medicine chest. 

It was kept there on purpose for us three boys — 

Young Jim and Tom and I — 

Mother said we were always skinnin' our shins 

Or gettin' a black eye. 

"For bumps and bruises the arnica's best." 

I'll bet nobody ever guessed 

Of the hundreds of cures in that medicine chest. 

In the dusk of the garret we laid a bold plan. 

Then painted our faces with soot, 

For a robber is always a bad looking man 

With a gun and sword to his boot. 

A pin in the lock proved to be quite the test 

We thought nobody would have guessed 

Who opened mother's old medicine chest. 



"SHEP" 

Like burglars we raised up the cover a bit, 

When everyone else was out, 

And kneeling close gazed down in 

Then felt in 'round about. 

Alas! We were with misfortune blest 

For mother came in and quickly guessed 

That we had opened her medicine chest. 

Then out came the rhubarb and thick castor oil, 

For mother could doctor some, too. 

And three little brigands were placed in disgrace; 

The thought makes me shiver anew. 

That rued combination put an end to the quest, 

I'll bet nobody need to have guessed 

We tampered no more with that medicine chest. 

Onondaga Hill — 1909. 



My good old friend, that old black dog. 

Has gone off o'er the hill; 
Beside some mossy woodland log 

He's lying cold and still. 
For him no sorrowing bells were tolled. 

No drapes of crepe were hung; 
But the south wind came and the dry leaves rolled, 

And I heard his requiem sung. 



TIT FOR TAT 



My boyhood's happiest hours were passed 

With him in wdod and glen; 
For us were sifty shadows cast, 

For us sweet sang the wren. 
The squirrel high in his leafy tower 

His threats and protests made 
Until the great sun sinking lower 

Left wood and field in shade. 

Poor, dear old ^'Shep," my good old friend; 

From the land where the chipmunk plays 
The god of dogs to you shall send 

Sweet dreams of olden days. 
For you no funeral bells were tolled. 

No drapes of crepe were hung, 
But o'er my heart a sadness rolled 

When I heard your requiem sung. 

Onondaga Hill — 1910. 

TIT FOR TAT 

I sent her back her photographs, 

Her pictures and her books; 
Now that he knows, how Jimmy laughs. 

Puts on such funny looks; 
First dons a smile, then grins awhile, 

Then says such dry, droll things, 
^'You're lucky. Bill," he's saying still, 

''They can't come back on wings." 



THE DREAMER 



Now have I been an easy mark, 

A point for girlish jabs? 
I couldn't keep them in the dark, 

Those candies, shows, and cabs. 
How oft I fell, Jim knew full well, 

He pictured horrors black, 
A letter came, she said the same: 

*' Please take your photos back." 

Syracuse — 1910, 



THE DREAMER 

Just a dreamer of idle old dreams am I, 

Of things that can never come true. 

Of the strangest and weirdest impossible things ; 

My thoughts are the thoughts of the night winds that 

clings 
'Round the uppermost branch of the forest and 

sings 

A soft sad melody. 

Just a weaver of shadowy legends am I, 
Out of old-time forgotten romance, 
Of a golden haired maid and a chivalrous knight; 
My story's a tale of a glorious fight 
Fought for honor alone, with sharp steel gleaming 
bright 

Into eternity. 



10 OLD LETTERS 



Just a builder of filmy castles am I, 
Of an ancient and splendid design, 
With high-crested towers and gray-bearded walls; 
My forts are the crypts of a thousand black palls, 
For the guard lies there slain and the murdered 
king calls 

Ghost-like and silently. 

Syracuse — 1910. 

OLD LETTERS. 

The letters that you've sent to me 

I prize more dear than hoards of gold; 

They are a priceless treasury, 
The sesame of days of old. 

They breathe a fragrance of the past, 
Of things you used to do and say; 

Sweet memory links with them are cast 
Into a chain of yesterday. 

I like to read them o'er and o'er, 
Each yellowed page so old yet new; 

I like to think you're here once more 
And do the things you used to do. 

I like to dream again those dreams 

And listen as you talk to me ; 
Oh, do not say ''Farewell," it seems 

The echo of eternity. 

Syracuse — 1910. 



CHIMES OF GROUSE 11 



CHIMES OF GROUSE 

Old Chimes of Crouse, how sweet and clear 
Your silvery notes are swelling, swelling; 
Through all the valley far and near 
O'er woodland brown and meadow sear 
Good tidings each is telling, telling. 
How glad to greet the reddening sun 
Your joyous bells are ringing, ringing ; 
How pliant when the day is done 
I hear them softly singing, singing. 
Their mystic spirits singing, singing. 

Old Chimes of Crouse, how faint and sweet 
Your echoes still are coming, coming 
Out of the years, my heart to greet, 
Oh! Listen, Syracuse replete 
In melody your humming, humming. 
Dark shadows round your tower cast, 
And all your notes seem sighing, sighing; 
The night wind whispers and is past 
Your echoes faint are dying, dying. 
Last lingering tones are dying, dying. 



Syracuse — 1910, 



12 FORTUNE TELLERS 



FORTUNE TELLERS 

*'Give me your hand," she slyly said; 

The sparks from the hearth danced brightly; 
* ' Oh, many a man has his fortune read, 
Now this is your life, and this your head," 
Then the storm grew dim, for her cheeks were red; 
June roses I thought, and rightly. 

''Now this line's for love, true love, I see, 

And here's just a slight illusion — " 
She stopped and looked up so prettily. 
Her deep brown eyes filled with mystery; 
''Is that to be all of my history?" 

I stammered in confusion. 

"Would you have more — ?" She looked away, 

And then my wits went flying; 
I can't remember to this day 
Whether I turned palmist in truth or play, 
But she gave me her hand with a wholesome, "Nay," 

And suggested I keep on — trying. 

Syracuse — 1911. 



FAREWELL! 13 



SHADOW SHIPS 

Shadow ships at anchor lay, 

'Tis the breaking of the day, 
And o'er the blue Venetian bay 

Comes the light of morning. 
From the east and up the skies 
Golden mists unwafted rise, 
And from each gilded mast head flies 
Bright colors each adorning. 

A hundred sails far out at sea 
Silhouetted stand and call to me. 
As from a land of mystery 

They come in silent glory. 
Oh, break! my soul this blue-gray shore. 
Unfettered float for evermore 
Out midst yon rosy sails and o'er 
The sea and learn its story. 

Syracuse — 1911. 

FAREWELL! 

To one sweet, truly generous heart, 
That can forgive, forget, and yet remain 
Unchanged, I cannot say, ''Goodbye," though we do 

part. 
But, just ''Farewell" till we shall meet again. 

Syracuse — 1911, 



14 ORANGE DRINKING CUP 

ORANGE DRINKING CUP 

I. 

Come, jolly lads, come gather 'round. 

Let's give a rousing cheer; 
Make every echo far resound 
For Alma Mater dear. 

Sing once again, ''Bill Orange," 
Sing the old, ''Gridiron Song," 
The morning's light 
Will soon be bright 
Upon our merry throng. 

Chorus 

Then raise each cup, high up, my boys, 
A toast "To care a truce." 

Drink deep to-night to college joys, 
Pledge dear old Syracuse. 

II. 

Come, jolly lads, our college days 

Are fleeting, nearly spent; 
Sing once again those old time lays 
In gleeful merriment. 

Red is the wine we're drinking; 
Red blood burns in each heart; 
With voices strong 
We'll sing a song 
Of Orange ere we part. 



THE DINKEY-BIRD 15 

Chorus 

Then raise each cup, high up, my boys, 

A toast '*To care a truce." 
Drink deep to-night to college joys. 

Pledge dear old Syracuse. 

Binghampton — 1911. 

THE DINKEY-BIRD 

''The Dinkey-Bird is singing 
In the amf alula tree." — Field. 

Oh ! See the Dinkey -Bird up there, 
He's swinging, swinging, swinging; 

I hear his voice through the rainbow air. 
He's singing, singing, singing; 

And as he swings back, to and fro 

The green boughs bend and the boy swings low 

All pinky-white in the golden glow. 
Just a Dinkey-Bird. 

What thinks my Dinkey-Bird so free? 

He's dreaming, dreaming, dreaming; 
Alone in a land of mystery. 

All's gleaming, gleaming, gleaming. 
His heart is light and his song is gay. 
Through his wind blown curls the sunbeams play. 
And he sits and swings the livelong day — 

Pretty Dinkey-Bird. 



16 HANS KEPPENGER 

Swing on my Dinkey-Bird, swing high, 

Your little soul is yearning; 
The fire-cloud against the sky 

Is burning, burning, burning. 
Out of the blue your castles rise 
All bathed in bright celestial dyes — 
Swing on — in happy Paradise — 

Little Dinlvcy-Bird. 

Syracuse — 1911. 

HANS KEPPENGER. 

On a quaint side street of a dear old town, 
Where the carts go rumbling up and down, 
And the housewives wear a wrinkled frown 

Like a sneeze; 
There lived not many years ago 
A funny old man with hair of snow, 
A funny old fellow he was, I trow — 

At his knees. 

Oh, it seems I can hear the children shout, 
* * Here 's bowlegged Hans. Look out ! Look out ! ' ^ 
Then hibbelty, hobbelty, down the lane 
Comes old Hans Keppenger, basket and cane. 

Of foreign extraction he was, I think, 
For his nose resembled a sausage link, 
All seasoned with schnapps to a ruddy pink, 
And he knew 



HANS KEPPENGER 17 

How to barber his whiskers close to his chin 
So it seemed as though he'd been looking in 
The top of a dusty old flour bin — 
But too true. 

And it seems I can still hear those children shout, 
As they stop in their play, and look about, 
*' There hibbelty, hobbelty, down the lane. 
Comes old Hans Keppenger, basket and cane." 

A felt hat he wore that sat down on his ears, 

A blue Holland coat that he'd treasured for years, 

And his 'kerchief had dried up a thousand tears 

Long ago; 
His trousers were faded through seasons of wear. 
Cross clieckered with many a patch and a tear, 
And his round little stomach had pretty rough fare 

When he'd blow. 

Oh, it seems I can hear those children shout 

As he frights them at play, and they scurry about, 

For hibbelty, hobbelty, down the lane 

Comes old Hans Keppenger, basket and cane. 

But the oddest thing 'bout old Hans-John, 
And the neighbors joked of it pro and con, 
Were the bow-legged boots which he always pulled on 
To his knees. 



18 SPANISH CASTLES 



Though years have passed, he still hobbles along, 
Now scolding as though the whole world were wrong, 
Now humming the tune of an old-time song. 
Hard to please. 

And I know I can hear those children shout, 
''Here's bowlegged Hans. Look out! Look out!" 
Then hibbelty, hobbelty, down through the rain, 
Comes old Hans Keppenger, basket and cane. 

Syracuse — 1911. 

SPANISH CASTLES ,, 

A hundred thousand castles have I there 

In sunny Spain, 
With massive walls and towers fair, 
And colors flung out in the air 

Yf ithout a stain. 

Sweet breezes from the southland blow — 

The mountain trees 
Sigh softly and far down below 
The gulls go sailing to and fro 

Out on the seas. 

There I am king of all that I survey; 

My lands extend 
Beyond each misty, tinted peak away 
Into the shadowy realm where night and day 

Forever blend. 



EVENING SONG ' 19 



How strange that I should be this king of kings, 

In dreamy reign! 
Building my castles, pondering over things, 
While youth flits by on noiseless wings 

In sunny Spain. 

Syracuse — 1911. 

EVENING SONG 

The toilsome day is over — 

Across the evening sky 
The darkening shadows are weaving 

The cloak of night on high; 
And with the dusk the murmurs 

Of countless drowsy things 
Are hushed to sleep by the whispery song 

That the wandering night wind sings. 

Blow, summer breezes, softly blow, 

Beneath the starlit sky, 
Across the waters come and go. 
Out of the night blow, softly blow. 
Bring back a voice I used to know 

In olden days gone by. 

Thus when life's day is closing. 

All tranquil and serene, 
May the night coming down with the twilight 

Find the year's broad valley green. 



20 TO HELEN 



Then fresli from tlie hills of memory 

May the gentlest breezes blow 
And bring with the scent of the woodland 
Sweet dreams of long ago. 

Blow, summer breezes, so^ftly blow, 

Beneath the starlit sky. 
Across dark waters come and go. 
Out of the past, blow, softly blow, 
Bring back those dreams in tinted glow 

Of olden days gone by. 

Syracuse — 1912, 



TO HELEN. 

Sweet Helen, when the night wind sighs, 

At my window lightly. 
And in the starry summer skies 

Thy pretty moon shines brightly. 
When drowsy birds have gone to rest — 

Then, sweetheart dear, I love thee best. 

What says the southwind to the trees, 

So whispery and sadly? 
Come, tell me now thou brigand breeze, 
I'll pay thy ransom gladly. 
What heardst thou in the southland there. 
As thou passed by, of Helen fair? 



A FIRESIDE REVERIE 21 

^ears on the night. The crystal moon 

In bright nocturnal glory 
Floats high — a dream voice seems to croon 

An old, old-fashioned story, 
Faintly I hear that sweet voice call, 

"Dear heart, I love thee best of all." 

Bridgeport — 1912, 



A FIRESIDE REVERIE 

The storm king rages fierce without 
'Round each unfastened shutter, 
He blows a breath both cold and stout. 
With whistling sigh and angry shout 
Goes racing down the gutter. 

He sweeps with hollow, mocking cry 

Each cornice peak and gable; 
His hoary beard goes whisking by 
The frosted window, and his eye 
Gleams icy cold as sable. 

Blow on, old storm king, rage at will, 
What care I for your furor? 

The fire in the grate burns still, 

The back log is a blazing mill 

Of scampering sparks and splendor. 



22 OVER THE HILLS 

In silhouette the andirons stand 

Like guardsmen grim and loyal; 
The golden flame's a fairy land 
Where brilliant figures in a band 
Troop through a palace royal. 

Syracuse — 1912, 

OVER THE HILLS 

"When we go riding, Kate and I, 
Then all the world is rosy; 

Across the blue October sky 

The silky clouds go sailing by, 

And on Kate's cheeks bright blushes lie 
That mock each autumn posy. 

When we go riding, Kate and I, 

Kate leads the way, I follow. 

She knows the path that most pass by 

Down 'cross the brook, then up on high 

To where the tall dark pine trees sigh 

From each dark, covered hollow. 

There at the closing of the day, 

Kate stops full half designing. 
And climbs the fence, like sunny May 
She sits, and hums a roundelay, 
While I just stand and gaze away — 
And know the sun is shining. 

Syracuse — 1912, 



THE MAKING OF THE GOWN 23 

THE MAKING OF THE GOWN 

Though the sky is bright and cherry, 

And the 'wakening day bids merry, 

Though the clover scented air 

Calls to May fields fresh and fair, 
Susan's up, her shuttle's going, 
Clic-clic-clic ; she's sewing, sewing. 

Gleams the sun high in the heaven, 
Creeps the minute hand toward 'leven. 
Now the postman comes along 
By the window with a song; 

Still is Susan busy sewing. 

Stitch, stitch, stitch; she's sewing, sewing. 

Quiet shadows deep are falling, 
And a robin's sweetly calling 
From the peach tree pink and white, 
* * Chic-chic-cherry, night-good-night, ' ' 
South wind sets the candle blowing, 
Susan keeps on with her sewing. 

Here a ribbon, there a basting. 

Tucks and pleatings, nothing wasting; 

'Long the casement 'neath the walk 
Are the crickets all a-talk. 

Bright cheeks, brighter, tired growing, 
Fain would Sue put by her sewing. 



24 OCTOBER 



Faster fly her nimble fingers, 
'Eonncl lier lips a faint smile lingers, 
And her brown hair, wind-blown down 
Curls about the new-made gown. 

Does she know, her face all glowing, 
There's a heart stitched in her sewing? 
Syracuse — 1912. 

OCTOBER 

The first red leaves of autumn have appeared. 
They hang in streamers from the maple bough, 
And all the elm's summer green is seared — 
The great trees know 'twill soon be winter now. 

The bird folk all have left their summer haunts, 
And down the forest path no more the jay 
Displays his showy plumage, flings his taunts. 
But silence reigns supreme throughout the day. 

The pretty tender flowers have gone to sleep. 
Snug in their beds they lie beneath the trees. 
But on the open hillside bare and steep 
The golden rod still bends beneath the breeze. 

Down through the hazy air there falls a hush. 
A few bright days and then against the pane 
The tinted leaves descend in whirling rush, 
And in the night time comes the chilling rain. 

Skaneateles — 1912. 



SONG 25 



SONG. 

There's a maiden sweet and fair, 

Katheleen, 
Who hath witchery and to spare, 

Katheleen ; 
With her roguish little smiles 
And her gay, coquettish wiles— 
Every move my heart beguiles, 

Katheleen. 

There's a language in her eyes, 

Katheleen ; 
They're as soft as summer skies, 

Katheleen ; 
And beneath her hazel hair 
Are the roses God put there, 
And the lips — but none may dare — 

Katheleen. 

She's my dream girl as of old, 

Katheleen ; 
When the sad night winds blow cold, 

Katheleen ; 
Oft' she steals up silently 
In my dreamy reverie, 
Sits, and talks, and croons to me, 

Katheleen. 

Syracuse — 1912. 



26 MARY MARIE 



MARY MARIE 

Now Mary Marie and I you see, 
Had met at the Wilkes's ball; 
And Mary Marie was twenty-three, 
As winsome and wise as a maid might be, 
But the coy little thing never told me you see 
That she was engaged at all. Ha, ha ! 
Too bad she's engaged at all. 

With ]\Iary Marie I quite agree, 
'Tis stupid to dance at a ball; 
And Mary Marie at half past three 
Was out for a lark in gay company. 
'Twas a jolly old crowd, just the moon and me — 
Lot she cared for the moon at all. Ha, ha ! 
Not a bit for the moon at all. 

Now, Mary Marie, blush prettily, 
There's gossip agog in the hall; 
And twixt we three, let the secret be. 
For cherry red lips tease at seventy. 
Small matter if they be engaged or free — 
On the night of a fancy ball. Ha, ha ! 
On the night of the Wilkes's ball. 

Cortland— 1913. 



SONG OF THE BOB-0-LINK 27 



SONG OF THE BOB-0-LINK. 

Sue and I were gathering lilies, 
White and yellow water lilies, 
Where the rushes gleam and glisten 

In the drowsy summer sun, 
And old Bob-o-link was singing 
As the breezes set him swinging, 
^'Cherup, cherup," he was singing, 

*'Come and take them every one." 



Bob's a bright and sprightly fellow 
In his coat of black and yellow. 
But the willow shadows hide him, 

He's forgotten in the sun, 
Susan's big blue eyes are gleaming 
And her cheery smile is beaming — 
Flash of gold — and Bob is screaming, 

''Come and take them every one." 

So it happened — Sue bent near me, 
And old Bob made not to hear me, 
Just kept swinging sort o' careless like 

And singing in the sun, 
P'rhaps beneath those very branches 
He's seen other blushing glances. 
And he knows his song entrances, 

For they take them — every one. 

TulUj—1913. 



28 THE AULD HAME 

COIN OF A KIND. 

*'Conie, pretty maid," he slyly said, 
''Don't pout but tell me this: 

Do you aver, that all men were 
Just made for you to kiss ? ' ' 

Her dark eyes fell, he guessed right well 

"What her reply might be — 
''In part I do, and yet a few 

Were made for kissing me." 

Syracuse — 1913, 

THE AULD HAME 

There's a thought in m' heart when th' lang day is 
'er. 

An' the red rosy shadows clim' lang up the sky, 
0' me father's old hame, an' the bees an' the clo'er, 

An' a' the guid things that I luved as a boy. 

There's a thought o' the winter, its cauld an' its 
dribble. 

An' ag'in o' the sweet singin' springtime s' bright, 
I'm feelin' m' feet on the simmer's hard stibble. 

An' hearin' the fiddlin' th' October night. 

There's a thought o' the meadow, the stream running 
through it, 
Wi' the kine doon knee deep where the wee fishies 
play, 



WINGS OF THE NIGHT > 29 

An' beyon' the great wood on the hill high aboo' it, 
Oh ! th' times we had then through a' the lang day ! 

There's a thought o' the sma' whiten house an' the 
mither 

Toilin' aye for her bairnies, her locks like the snaw, 
Syne lang she 's gane now f rae this warl ' to anither, 

Where the heart's achin' tribble is washit awa'. 

S ' come now the night, when the lang day is o 'er. 

An' life's purplin' shadows dim' lang up the sky, 
There's a thought o' the old hame ye wearyin' ro'er, 
Where the guid, kind auld mither croons o'er the 
sma' boy. 

Onondaga Hill — 1913, 

WINGS OF THE NIGHT. 

Musing, I sit alone 
After the day is done. 

In sad contemplation; 
Thoughts of the days that were 
Rush through my mind and stir 

No exultation. 

Akin to the weary night. 
Streaked with its ghastly light. 

Sodden with sorrow; 
Cringing ere break of day, 
Despair comes and breathes away 

All hope for the morrow. 



DELANCY STREET 



TemiDts now the murky dark, 
Smolders that awful spark 

Of execration. 
Wings of the night none see, 
''Bear thou thy cross with me, 

I'm thy salvation." 

New York City— 1914. 



DELANCY STREET. 

Ten thousand wretched roof-tops near and far, 
All done in brick and stone and mortar gray; 
While here and there, like some colossal scar, 
Dark shadowed 'gainst a sky of murky black. 
Stands out some giant bridge or outpost stack. 
All 'round about, the wretched, squalid quay. 
And stifling fetid breath of modern day. 

A million cheated souls in worse than chains. 
In blind delusion struggling down a road. 
Upon their aching backs the one that reigns 
Rides on unconscious of their gasping breath. 
Their prayers, their curses, or their silent death. 
The sky is blue for him who wisely sowed — 
But, oh, 'tis black for them who bear the load! 

New York City— 1914. 



BERMUDA , 31 



BERMUDA. 

Goodnight, my love, goodnight, goodnight! 
The fading moon, her lantern high 
Goes threading softly down the sky 
With nodding opalescent light. 

How fair she treads the silvered sea 
Down through your palms where coral bars 
And lilied isles embrace the stars 
With magic and with mystery. 

At last she lights the phantom ships 
That stand at anchor down the bay 
With outstretched ghostly arms of gray, 
Then calls the watch with silent lips. 

And noAv the moon is lost to sight. 
Past violet waters and the brake 
Some bird is singing for your sake, 
Goodnight, my love, goodnight, goodnight. 

Bermuda Islands — 1914. 



32 THE LITTLE VAGABOND 



THE LITTLE VAGABOND. 

Made in His image, there he stands; 

Poor little vagabond, for all he knows 
The Devil owns him head and hands. 

And he goes the way the Devil goes ; 
In blackened shirt and grimy pants — 
God knows he never had a chance. 

A boy, you say? He's 'most a man. 
All hunched up, sick and old; 

He eats and sleeps where'er he can. 
Nor grumbles when it's wet and cold. 

In filthy shirt and ragged pants — 
God knows he hasn't half a chance. 

Kicked out, he has? It's foT the best. 

A vagabond's no earthly good; 
You talked of uplift plans nor guessed 

He died for want of clothes and food. 
Shrouded in reeking shirt and pants — 
God has him. Now he has a chance. 

Hohoken — 1914. 



APPLE MARY 33 



''APPLE MARY." 

''Apples, apples! Please buy apples" — 

'Twas many years ago, 
And no one here remembers now 

In Broadway or Park Row, 
For everything has changed about 

And nothing's quite the same; 
New York was just a little town 

When Apple Mary came. 

"Apples, apples! Please buy apples!" 

Oh, the sunshine in the song; 
All up and down the wharf they knew 

When Mary passed along, 
Swingin' her basket on her arm 

So m^odest like and shy, 
'Twas, "Laddies, get your pennies out, 

Apple Mary's passin' by." 

"Apples, apples! Please buy apples!" 

North River, Bowling Green; 
But when the ships came into dock, 

'Twas there she would be seen. 
"She's lookin' for her Sailor Jack," 

They said when eight bells rang, 
And when 'twas frosty 'long the wharf — 

Then Apple Mary sang. 



34 EPIGRAMMATIC 



"Apples, apples! Please buy apples!" 

And then passed many a day ; 
Still Jack's good ship was out at sea, 

And Mary's locks were gray; 
So poor, so old; can it be true, 

Through streets which had no end — 
Where millions passed would no one be 

Poor Apple Mary's friend? 

"Apples, apples! Buy my apples!" 

No more we hear the cry; 
A dear old face has vanished; 
We miss a mild blue eye. 
No more about the dangerous streets 

Her faltering footsteps roam. 
For a voice down through the skies has called- 
Poor Apple Mary home. 

New York City — 1914. 

EPIGRAMMATIC 

Dottie-Dimple-Dorothy, 
Not like other girls was she. 

Hair of burnished gold and eyes 
Like the fairest summer skies. 

Cheeks that mocked the new-plucked rose 
Voice as when the south wind blows. 

"Freshman Co-Ed," rumor ran; 
Then a merry race began. 



EPIGRAMMATIC ^ 35 



College men were quite surprised; 
Dorothy was idolized. 

Senior, junior, sophomore; 
Dances, theatres, galore. 

Mixers, rushes, college fair; 

The popular maid was always there. 

While the ghostly ''Flunker's Con." 
Watched the social whirl go on. 

Dick was but a passing craze, 
John soon numbered all his days. 

Harry made himiself a pal 
With a splutt'ring National. 

Then each big sorority 
Sent a bid to Dorothy. 

Homely college sisters said, 

''Wait, 'twill surely turn her head." 

College Profs allowed they knew — 
Maids could break a heart or two. 

And for such as stole the tarts, 
There's no harm in breaking hearts. 

Now the moral can you see ? 
Dottie-Dimple-Dorothy. 

Seattle— 1915. 



36 SONG OF THE LOST SONS 



SONG OF THE LOST SONS 

Ours was the sorrow great, 
Born to a cruel Fate — 
Anguish upon her, 
Homes that our fathers wrought — • 
For which they toiled and fought — 
Lost in dishonor. 

Played we the losing fight, 
Flamed with the will of right, 
"When death was spoken 
Hands were in silence prest, 
Turned we into the West 
Spirits unbroken. 

Say not we had to flee 
Far over land and sea, 
Deep into hiding; 
But that we heard the call 
Answered it one and all — 
Time we were biding. 

Sons of a goodly race, 
Who says we lost our place ? 
Say we have found it. 
In a new world and wide, 
Here is no shame to hide, 
Nor sorrow to drown it. 



SONG OF TH E LOST SONS 37 

Mountain and valley free, 
Lakeland and flashing sea, 
On and forever; 
Here the uneonquered ones, 
Here the forgotten sons, 
Naught now can sever. 

Bound here by common ties 
Labor and sacrifice, 
Shoulder to shoulder; 
Shall we a new land make 
That shall grow up and take 
Place by the older. 

This then the gift shall be 
To you and posterity, 
Come now and claim it ; 
Hear 'neath blue sunlit skies 
Shall a New Freedom rise — 
Come you and name it! 

Forget then the weary years. 
Forget all the toil and tears 
We spent till we won her; 
Remember the cruel fate — 
Ours was the sorrow great — 
Name us with honor ! 

Seattle— 1915^ 



38 CAPE FLATTERY 

CAPE FLATTERY 

Gray dawn and graying sea — 
Salt mists blown to beckon me, 
Sea birds crying out of sight 
Where the morning meets the night. 

Mystery waves of white and green 
Sing of all the things they've seen; 
Out beyond the windswept white 
Oriental stars shine bright, 
Paper lanterns swing and glow 
In cherry-blossom Tokyo, 
Far down Honolulu bay 
Ukeleles softly play. 

Harbor winds bring up the noise, 
Anchor chains and rattling buoys. 
Giant ships and steaming quay 
Poppy-scented Port-Bombay ; 
And from desert shores afar. 
Land of Crescent and the Star, 
Comes a chanted melody — 
Caravans of Araby. 

Sea birds wandering out of sight. 
Memories of my thousandth night; 
Love, adventure, mystery. 
Past the dawn and graying sea. 

Port Discovery — 1915. 



IN EXPLANATION 39 



IN EXPLANATION 

Explanations is hard to make, 
An' specially when a feller's shy, 
But folks is talkin' 'bout it so 
I'm just a 'goin' to try 
To s 'plain the hull darned thing, 
An' get it clear again, 
So you'll know just the reason why — 
I didn't marry Jane. 

You know — 

Secrets and things is hard to tell 
About a feller's steady girl. 
Folks said Jane wasn't so much on looks, 
But she seemed like a pearl 
To me. She never said 
A woTd against the grain. 
But maw said they was reasons why — 
I couldn't marry Jane. 

You know — 

Mothers is sometimes hard on boys. 
An' often blights their love and things. 
Maw said Jane didn't have no style. 
Nor no estates, nor rings; 
She said she weighed two hundred pounds, 
She caused me such a lot of pain. 
An' then paw tol' his reasons why — 
I couldn't marry Jane. 



40 LENT 



You know — 

Perhaps you've had a paw yourself 
"Who always acted like a bear, and swore 
He 'd cut you off without a cent. 
Well, I tol' Jane, an' she got sore 
At me, an' screamed an' cried 
I was a brute, an' 'fore I could explain 
She 'd up an ' died ; an ' that 's just why 
I never married Jane. 



Seattle— 1915, 



LENT 

Oh, I know it's bein' done. 
An' they say it's lots of fun. 
But I 'm a little curious, 
An' I hope you won't resent. 
For I'd really like to know 
Why people have to go 
A' hungry till their furious — 
A' just because it's lent. 

'Oh! It's Lent, Lent, Lent! 
Here's a life that's been misspent, 
But we'll starve it into virtue 
With our much respected Lent. 



LENT 41 



Oh, it lasts but forty days, 
Time enough for any craze, 
Self imposed without a reason 
An' no harm is really meant. 
But these disheartened looks, 
Plainly show we're sick of books. 
An' cigars are out of season 
A' just because it's Lent. 

Oh ! It's Lent, Lent, Lent ! 
Here's good fellows discontent, 
But we'll smoke 'em into favor 
When we 're finished with our Lent. 

Oh, if we were made of wood 
I suppose 'twould do some good, 
But goodness now don't answer 
For the jolly days we've spent. 
An' for all you laugh and smile. 
Who would have a silly style 
Make a monkey of a man, sir — 
A' just because it's Lent. 

Oh ! It's Lent, Lent, Lent ! 
Where 's the man that started Lent ? 
Oh, I fancy 'twill be jolly 
When we're done observin' Lent. 

Seattle— 1915. 



42 AN OLD FRIEND OF MINE 

AN OLD FRIEND OF MINE 

Oh, Bill, he's gone to a party, 
And Tony and Fred are out, 
And Dick, so jolly and hearty, 
Is rushing the Kappas no doubt; 
And I'm alone for the evening 
With my books and my fire I'm free; 
So I '11 just drop a line, to an old friend of mine — 
To the girl who is going to be. 

'Twill be an old fashioned letter 
Like my grandaddy wrote long ago, 
''My dear little girl," and what's better 
I '11 mark it with crosses just so ; 
For crosses you know have a meaning 
That only true lovers can see, 
But she'll know the sign that old friend of mine — 
The girl who is going to be. 

I '11 close with, ' ' I love you truly, ' * 
Just the same as I used to do, 
And I'll turn the stamp around duly, 
"For sweetheart, I'm writing to you, 
Tonight my heart's in New England 
In a quaint old town by the sea. ' ' 
And I 'm writing a line to an old friend of mine — 
The girl who is going to be. 



MOTHER 43 



There's the little white house and the clover, 
And joy's smiling out through your tears-^ 
Why, Bill! — Your party's not over? 

I'll be . Just a prank of the years. 

Guess you saved me from popping the question, 
You're a bully old pal, I decree. 
And tonight we will dine to an old friend of mine — 
To the girl who tvas going to be. 



Seattle— 1915. 



MOTHER 

! mother dear, like outposts set on high, 
The bright eternal stars their vigil keep, 

The day is past, across the darkling sky, 
The night wind drowsily sings the world to sleep. 

Alone and far from home in forest wild 
I lay me down to rest 'mid falling dew. 

And peace came for a mother hushed her child, 
And in my dreams I knew that she was you. 

Thus in that last dark night which soon shall come 
But let me see your face and feel you near. 

And I shall know, although my lips be dumb. 

That God has known and blessed you, mother dear. 

Mt. Bainer National Forest — 1915. 



44 THE FAIR CO-ED 



THE FAIR CO-ED 



A bit of rose and pink chiffon, 

In library sequestered nook, 
May come to be as time goes on, 

Of more importance than a book. 

Half hidden from the passing crowd, 
'Neath dusty shelf and winding stair. 

She sits, and like a golden cloud, 

The morning sunlight tints her hair. 

She dips in Plato and in Hume, 

In Shakespeare and in Poe; 
Philosophy and tragic gloom 

But serve to make her fairer grow. 

She reads in Latin, likes the Greek, 

Has toyed with French, you know awhile; 
It's heavenly to hear her speak. 

But just divine to see her smile. 

The old librarian totters on. 

Nor thinks behind his shelves of dust 
A bit of rose and pink chiffon 

Knows why it is that freshmen — bust. 

Seattle— 1915. 



A TRYIN' TO BE HAPPY 45 

A TRYIN' TO BE HAPPY 

Fact is, I've been about a bit an' seen a lot; 
An' I've made, and spent my pile 
"Where there was pleasure to be got; 
Guess I've gone a fool's own limit 
Quite as frequently as not — 

A' tryin' to be happy. 
Gone a silly fool's own limit 
Quite as frequently as not, 

A' tryin' to be happy. 

Each day I've set my hand to such as come along; 
An' I've learned to toss my heart 
Into the bargain with a song. 
An' perhaps to chirp and whistle 
When things is goin' wrong — 

A' tryin' to be happy. 
Oh, it's best to grin and whistle 
When things is goin' wrong, 

A' tryin' to be happy. 

What's left? I've lusted down the painted ways of 

light; 
An' I've known the lonely trail 
With its silent starry night ; 
Oh! I've pawned my youth to wander 
Over seas with wonder bright, 

A' tryin' to be happy. 
Pawned and lost my youth to wander 
Over seas with wonder bright, 

A' tryin' to be happy. Seattle — 1915. 



46 A VALENTINE FANTASY 



A VALENTINE FANTASY 

A red polo coat and a uniform gray, 
As it turns out once in a while, sir, 
"Were strolling across the campus one day, 
For strolling is always in style, sir. 

Said the red polo coat 

In a tremulous note, 
''I think it is Valentine's day, sir." 

True, the red polo coat and the uniform gray. 
Never thought ere the strolling began, sir, 
Of things that may happen on Valentine's day, 
When a maid nods a smile for her answer. 

So the uniform gray 

Had a soldier's own way; 
'"Twas a lovely old Valentine's day, sir." 

Now, a red polo coat and a uniform gray, 
I'll finish my tale with your leave, sir. 
Go strolling together most every fine day; 
There's a heart on the uniform's sleeve, sir; 

And it beats to the note 

Of a red polo coat. 
For every day's Valentine's day, sir. 

Seattle— 1915. 



INVOCATION 47 



INVOCATION 

Grant me a birthright of fair open places 
"Where mountain and valley come down to the sea, 
Through childhood to dream, search wild flowers ' faces 
And read from the rocks what the future shall be. 

Give me a life filled with manly endeavor. 
With youth at my side let me range field and flood, 
Strange ports and new faces my passion forever, 
Find joy in right living and everything good. 

Let me lie down to rest, life 's labor ended. 
At peace with the thought that a service is done, 
Untortured by promised rewards, undefended. 
Assured all beginnings and ends are as one. 

Make me a grave where the great rocks are lying 
High on some pinnacled point by the sea, 
'Round my lone sepulcher vagrant winds sighing 
Shall mourn through the ages lost camraderie. 

San Francisco — 1915. 



48 R. S. V. P. 



NOVEMBER EIGHTH 

Though Autumn fields of brown are spread 

Between us, yet the sunset red 

Shines bright for both, so health and cheer 

I send to you, Mother Dear! 

You have my love, I can but pray, 

God bless you this November day. 

Chicago — 1915. 



SPIRIT 0' YOUTH 

Because the sleigh bells gladly ring — 

I'm glad I am alive, 
Because my heart chords loudly sing, 
And sunshine brightens everything 

For which I live, and hope, and strive — 

At twenty-five. 

Chicago — 1915. 

R. S. V. P. 

Though all the world should come and say 
Your eyes were hazel, green, or gray, 

'Twould be a hopeless sign; 
I still should call them wondrous brown 
And see 'neath lashes drooping down 

My pretty Valentine. 

Chicago — 1916. 



REGIMENTAL MARY ANN 49 

MAY DAY 

'Tis the first day of May, there's a kiss in the air, 
All the world loves a May day because it's so fair; 
Smell the lilacs in bloom, see the mayflowers too. 
And the lilies, and violets both yellow and blue ; 
And down in the orchard, and up in the glen 
The robins and bluebirds are nesting again. 

Along by the brookside the cowslips are out. 
Green grass on the hillside, and all round about 
The blue vaulted sky bright with sunshine and joy 
Fills the heart with a gladness that makes man a boy, 
A boy Vt^ith a dog and the whole day to play — 
Be a youngster at fifty, 'tis the first day of May. 

Chicago — 1916. 



REGIMENTAL MARY ANN 

There's many a trooper who still minds the day, 

When first came Mary Ann, 
A' down the company street s'gay. 
Like apple blossoms fresh in May, 
An' Danney O 'Toole stopped his roundelay — 

At the sight o' Mary Ann. 
Stopped a rollikin' Irish roundelay, 
Put his jiggin's aside for another day — 

At the sight o' Mary Ann. 



50 REGIMENTAL MARY ANN 

For 'twas a, "Hey, dey, Mary! 

''A hey, dey, Mary Ann! 

''An' blessin's upon ye my pretty one — 

"You're sweet on Corporal Dan." 

An' a' through the summer's burnin' white heat, 

Each day came Mary Ann, 
A' peddlin' goodies and many a treat 
To Captain an' Sergeant an' high Private Pete, 
But 'twas plain she cared mostly young Danney to 
meet, 

Did handsome Mary Ann. 
Ah, her brown eyes were dancin' young Danney to 

meet, 
Though her gingerbread soldiers — poor beggars dis- 
creet — 
Were a' dyin' for Mary Ann. 

An' 'twas, "Hey, dey, Mary, 

"A hey, dey, Mary Ann! 

' ' If soldiers have sweethearts my pretty one — 

"Beware o' Corporal Dan!" 

At last came our orders ; we a ' said, ' ' Goodbye, ' ' 

To sweet little Mary Ann. 
"Right forward, four right," rang the ol' Sergeant's 

cry 
As the mornin's red sun struck the October sky, 



CHANGING SEASONS 51 

An' each trooper in saddle was ready to die — 

For dear little Mary Ann. 
Each trooper was ready and willin' to die, 
An' Danney 'Toole brushed a tear from his eye 

For the leavin' o' Mary Ann. 

An ' 'twas a ' ' Hey, dey, Mary ! 

' ' Regimental Mary Ann ! 

''May angels be bringin' ye pretty one 

"Sweet dreams o' Corporal Dan!" 

Fort Worth— 1916. 

CHANGING SEASONS 

'Tv/as summer by the leafy tree, 
And by the meadow soft and green, 
The little brook sang merrily 
Of all the summery things he'd seen; 
A lark lost in the blue above 
Sang so it seemed his soul must part, 
But Mary only played at love. 
And oh, 'twas winter in my heart. 

'Tis winter by the icy bough. 
The snowy fields and woods around. 
The laughing brook is silent now, 
And only wintry winds resound. 
Yet twinkling stars o'er vale and hill. 
Seem beauty gems of magic art, 
For Mary — love has said, *'I will," 
And oh, 'tis summer in my heart. 

Chicago — 1916. 



52 YULE-TIDE 



A WISH 

Take away the years 
And the tears, 
Take away the name 
And the game ; 
Give me back the joy 
Of the boy— 
I used to be. 

Let me for a day 
Go away, 

I shall find the place 
And a face 

Bright with mother love 
From above — 
Awaiting me. 

Chicago — 1916. 



YULE-TIDE 

A little red house 

On a little white hill, 

A breath of Christmas in the air 

So beautiful and still. 

Berkshire Hills — 1916, 



THE MAGIC LAND 53 



THE MAGIC LAND 

Do you remember long ago 
A blue eyed little lad? 
He climbed a hill-top all aglow 
In sunshine, saw far down below 
The city of the glad. 

Enraptured, long he gazed away 
O'er sea and golden sand. 
Till, spirit like, the hills of gray 
Crept up and spoke at close of day, 
''Come see the Magic Land." 

With singing heart the boy pressed on, 
Strong in his youthful years, 
Loitered in Palace and Parthenon, 
Learned from the world and sages anon, 
Nor thought of his mother's tears. 

But he never found the Magic Land, 
Nor learned all he would know. 
Until he turned from a distant strand 
And found his mother's heart and hand 
The same as long ago. 

Chicago — 1916. 



S4 MOTHER CAREY AND SAINT NICK 



MOTHER CAREY AND SAINT NICK 

Little laddie at the window 
Gazing toward the evening sky, 
Tell me 'bout the snowflakes dropping 
As they pass the window by, 

As they flutter from the sky. 

Do' you think of Mother Carey 
Far above the leafless trees? 
Can you hear her faintly calling 
Home her pretty chic-a-dees? 

See their feathers in the breeze. 

Do you think of old Kris Kringle 
With his toys all in a rov»^? 
Can you hear his sleigh bells jingle 
As he drives off through the snow? 
Reindeers racing through the snow. 

If you thought for quite a minute 
'Bout the snow storm dark and thick, 
Don't you think that way up in it 
There's a home for old Saint Nick? 
Mother Carey and Saint Nick. 

Chicago— 1916. 



REFLECTIONS 55 



REFLECTIONS 

Tonight I stroll 'long time worn walks 
Beneath great oak and elm trees 
And feel the soul of Old Yale talks 
To me of life in prophesies. 

The future leads up from the past, 
Two centuries of glory bright 
Bespeak new deeds while time shall last, 
New men to carry ''Truth and Light." 

These ivied halls will pass away, 
Replaced by ones not yet designed. 
Where then the calls that sound today — 
The songs borne on the evening wind ? 

Ours not to know ! While duty stands — 
Strike out, persist, prevail, 
And Arctic snow and Tropic sands 
Shall feel the thrill of men and Yale ! 

0! hearts that burn in after years, 
And you who bring new talents bright, 
Shall I return, and through my tears 
Recall the man I am tonight ? 

New Haven — 1916. 



56 KENTUCKY 



KENTUCKY. 

A thousand bards have told in song 

Of Old Kentucky's charms, 

Portrayed her mountains ranged along — 

Her wondrous Blue Grass farms. 

Songs of our fair Kentucky Belle 

Are sung wher e'er men roam, 

And who's not heard as darkness fell, 

''My Old Kentucky HomeT' 

But let me tell in simple rhyme 
Of other things unsung; 
Far back in geologic time 
When still the earth was young, 
Then many a mineral treasure tray 
Was locked beneath our hills 
Filled full of coal and oil and clay 
To feed and run our mills. 

Oh! land of rich maturity, 
Once ''dark and bloody ground," 
For thee is cast futurity 
Beyond the trumpet's sound; 
New generations yet unborn 
Shall come this wealth to hold. 
And mineral industries we scorn 
Will give a million fold. 

Prestonshurg — 1 917. 



GARGOYLES THREE -57 

GARGOYLES THREE 

Gargoyles three to a cornice clung, 
Man, and reptile, and coral hung, 
Chiseled by steel with a clever art. 
Things of stone with a stony heart. 
Yet stones may speak as you shall see — 
List to the song of the gargoles three. 

First spake the man, for men are bold. 
Courtly his manner, his accent cold, 
''Men call me Kublai, Mongol Kahn; 
I knew the world ere this race began, 
The knowledge your modern empire shows 
Was born with me and Himalayan snows." 

Spake then the reptile's deathly voice: 

''Man took his knowledge not through choice; 

Back in the depths of the Permian fen 

There lived we saurians, mothers of men : 

How slight the wisdom you boast and name 

That knows not the line by which you came. ' ' 

Last of all three spake the coral spray, 
Ghostlike, indistinct, far away: 
"The earth was old when I was young; 
I knew you both as your cradles swung; 
Far off in the tropical Cambrian sea 
We lived all as one, you are kin to me." 

Lexington — 1918. 



58 TWO LITTLE SHOES 

TWO LITTLE SHOES 

Two little shoes on the mantel high 

Worn at the heel and stubbed at the toe, 

Tell me, are you as lonely as I; 

Where are your thoughts as the night winds blow? 

Is it the wood lire's ruddy beam 
Caught in each button, a dangl'ing light, 
Or are those your tears that sadly gleam 
Dropped for a face that you miss tonight. 

Embers and ashes, and a dawn that grays 
Bringing old tasks that we may not choose. 
How priceless these dreams of sweet baby days, 
A God-given face, and two little shoes! 

Frankfort— 1920 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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